


harmony takes two

by UniversalSatan



Series: lucia imposes their interests on klance [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Classical Music, First Kiss, M/M, Piano, lance has performance anxiety, lance is also smooth af god i wish that were me, theyre both p gay btw its great, this was actually a vent fic cause of nerves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 12:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11874036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniversalSatan/pseuds/UniversalSatan
Summary: Lance has nerves from doing a piano examination. He bumps into a cute boy tragically born with a mullet, yet who has incredible musical talent that Lance just might fall for.





	harmony takes two

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually a vent fic because of Nerves TM so like up until 2.5k words it's almost completely based on my experience lol (i was writing it to get rid of nerves)
> 
> but then i needed to make it gay and have a happy ending so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> thanks so much to [cam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alpacameron) for editing this and the rest of the skuroo squad [esmae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/esmaewrites) and [titty/juliette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ivegotnoromeo/pseuds/ivegotnoromeo) for betaing this bless

Anxiety did not bode well with Lance. He probably seemed cool on the outside, but on the inside his head was spinning and felt like  he wanted to throw up.

His mother hadn't quite figured out how he really was feeling, as she was content chatting away as she drove to the examination location. They had just dropped off his youngest sister at Abuelita's, and his mother was just complaining about her work problems and how she was happy she'd finally be able to rest. Lance barely listened to her as he stared out of the passenger seat window blankly, clutching at the music books and papers on his lap.

"Lance, mi vida, are you actually okay?" Lance glanced over to her to see her watching him. He set his arm back down, since he was checking his pulse on his neck right before.

"Mm."  _ Not in the mood for talking at the moment. _

"You'll do fine, precioso. You always do so amazing," she gushed, turning the car and driving up to the loading zone in front of the music building. She had the right to assume so; Lance usually was overflowing with self-confidence, but he didn't talk to her enough for her to know about just how insecure he really felt about himself deep down inside.

"Sure," he muttered, hesitating to get out. He sat in the car for a little longer.

"Lance? What is it? Do you want me to go in with you?"

"..." Did he?  _ Yes, and no. _

"Can't you find the room yourself? You know I’m not allowed to listen, and I'm feeling a bit sick. I didn't even bring a book."

"..."

"Just go and find information and ask where your room is."

Lance took a deep breath and opened the door, getting out with all of his stuff.

"You'll do amazing," she grinned, waving.

"Yeah, okay. Bye Mami," he mumbled, turning and walking towards the building with confidence only his outfit could bring out of him.

That was another thing. His outfit. He was sure he was almost too formal for the event, but his mom had wanted him even more dressed-up if possible. Nevertheless, the nicely fitted button-up, dress pants, and shiny cleaned shoes really helped boost his confidence. It gave him a step in his stride knowing how good-looking he was going inside of this mess, no matter how emotionally wrecked he was on the inside.

He stepped inside the building and panicked just a tiny bit when he saw that there wasn't anyone sitting in the information desk. His eyes flitted about the lobby and was relieved when he spotted a paper taped on a pole telling him to register on the 5th floor. 5th floor... huh. He was well familiar with that floor, being there only a few months earlier in the spring.

The inside of the elevator felt surreal. He pressed the button for the fifth floor, and absently watched the heavy doors close in front of him, isolating him. He was in his own world now, with only the hum of the moving elevator and the timeless white light bouncing off its every silver and shiny surface.

Lance chose not to think at all at this point. It was better for his mental health, and his nerves could go fuck themselves. The elevator screen flickered to 3, and Lance had already felt like he had been in there forever. It felt like a dream.

_ Time isn't real _ .

Which was unfortunately not quite the truth, as Lance saw a clock indicate that his examination was half an hour away as soon as the elevator doors opened. His steps were slightly more rigid now, but he forced himself to get out and head to the open doors on the left side of the hallway.

He poked his head in and passed a few parents while looking around, waiting to see if there was someone ready to register him. There were two people talking in an adjoined office, yet they didn't seem to be taking immediate notice of him. He stood up straight and waited for them.

Finally, one of them walked out: "Do you need to be registered for an exam?"

"Um, yes," he spoke up. Clearly. Not yet confidently, but still clearly. He gulped and gripped his books a little tighter.

"You should go across the hall - there's a man at a table waiting to sign you in."

"Oh," he took a step back, "Okay." The second person walked out beside him, and he paused. She was tall and gorgeous and had long flowing white hair, despite how young she was. "Wait... do you play oboe?"

She stopped and stared at Lance. "Yes..."

"I think you've taught me before."

"I think I may have..."

"For school? Garrison Hill?"

"Remind me of your name again...?"

"Lance."

Her eyes brightened. "Oh, yes! I do remember you! You're very good."

"R-really?" he smiled unsurely. Because of his currently mixed emotions and thoughts, he was stuck between modesty and narcissism. "Oh, um... I made it into the City band."

"Oh, did you?" She beamed, "I think I know a few people there..."

"Yeah I know a few friends of friends..."

"That's pretty cool."

"Um... are there any practice rooms maybe-?"

"No... sorry... the Conservatory didn't book any. You'll have to play on the bench," she joked sympathetically, fingers air-playing an invisible keyboard.

"Oh... alright."

"Well, good luck Lance!"

"Oh, um, thank you," he bowed his head slightly, taking a few awkward shuffles back before he could completely turn to leave the room.

Honestly, meeting his oboe teacher from when his school visits the university for extra lessons really helped assure him. Granted, his anxiety was still there, but he felt just a little bit more confident now. As he signed in, he tried relaxing his whole body, doing as the man said and preparing for what he needed inside the examination room.

This wasn't oboe though. This was  _ piano _ . The instrument he wanted to continue and excel and possibly even become a genius at. He knew he hadn't practiced as nearly as much as he should have, but the level his piano teacher had put him at was a bit low for him and a little boring. He was used to sight reading and learning Chopin and Mozart and whatever else caught his eye, not pieces that were 1 page long and that took 3 minutes to play.

And yet he still couldn't play these pieces flawlessly.

To which Lance could easily refute and say that he valued playing with feeling and emotion over making a few unnoticeable mistakes.

Which wouldn't matter now of course, as now it was those few mistakes that mattered. And would dock him points of his final grade.

Groaning quietly to himself, he slid back on a cushioned bench by himself, setting his stuff beside him. The anxiety wasn't coming back as sickeningly as it was before, yet nevertheless it would probably hinder his playing.

The person currently playing in the examination room wasn't helping either. They were playing a... what... Grade 10 level piece? Perfectly. Even if he did play perfectly, Lance's Grade 6 pieces would do nothing to rival those. He hated it; hated how he wasn't the best at piano and how people could possibly be better than him and even play with  _ feeling _ . Child prodigies were a whole different story, so Lance tried to find ways to distract himself.

He took his earbuds out and plugged them into his phone to look through his classical music library.  _ Because for some reason listening to Arthur Rubenstein and Takashi Matsunaga would console him better than whoever that Grade 10 player was.  _ Lance texted his friend Hunk as soon as he started Liszt's La Campanella.

The pauses between the times Hunk was sending messages grew greater, allowing Lance to remember things he didn't quite want to. He rested his head back, listening to Kobe by Takashi Matsunaga and closing his eyes.

Spring. Piano festival. First day, messing up almost every section. Being the oldest in the group by a few years. Being outplayed by some probably 7 year old Grade 5s. The adjudicator pointing out his performance from everybody's because of the "velocity" he played his piece with. That being the only good taken from the day, as well as musically out-playing the younger kid before him with the same piece. Apparently even the audience was impressed.

_ "Velocity" _ wasn't going to save him today. Even if one of the pieces he was playing today was from back then.

Whoever was playing the Grade 10 pieces finally walked out. He looked smug and proud, his ridiculously long and flowing hair ticking Lance off even more. As much as he wanted to be impressed by his luscious hair, he was pretty pissed over the fact how he seemed maybe a couple years younger than him.

The second festival day. Performing the piece he had to learn in 24 hours and  _ hated _ . It wasn't even the type he liked at all. Stupid Bartok. Stupid List C pieces.

He did actually get it almost perfect, but the adjudicator said he missed some accents. The paper said he got a ranking just under the highest. Just like the day before.  _ What everyone else got. _

That day wasn't so bad though. He was the only 24 hour performer there, and everyone else was doing "concerts" (3 pieces in a row). Everyone seemed impressed by him. One person who apparently taught piano in the audience said he should have gotten 100%.

How was he going to get a perfect mark in his exam though if he missed a few accents when he thought he played it perfectly?

He didn't even practice this time either.  _ Maybe he just never fucking learns _ .

Sighing, Lance checked his pulse again. It's fast, but not too fast. He paused Chopin's Polonaise and checked the time.  _ Any minute now.  _ The person who had gone just before him seemed to be a Grade 2 though, so he supposed that was kind of a solace.

And speak of the devil. Lance could barely see them approaching through the blinded window, so he stood up and left his jacket outside on the bench, following the examiner into the room. Taking a deep breath, he smoothed down his shirt and sat down at the smaller grand piano.

Scales, technique: One wrong note per drill. Should have been easy, but it wasn't too bad, he supposed. The piano's feel wasn't so bad either: the keys made the sound softer, and were pretty easy to play. If only his hands would stop shaking.

Etudes: Also one flub up per song. The examiner didn't have the book, but Lance knew she could probably tell anyways. He was having fun with the second one, but the mistake did slightly put a damper on it. Not to mention the piano did damper the piece's feel more than he would've wanted. Still, he could feel himself and his sound soaring around the bright and open room more and more as he played.

Repertoire: Actually okay. He had been told by his piano teacher that these 3 pieces would weigh the heaviest on his grade, so Lance tried best not to think about it as his fingers flowed over the keys. Not quite as gracefully as he would've wanted, but still okay. There weren't even that many mistakes in the pieces either.

Ear training and sight reading: He knew this had gone pretty shit. He knew he probably didn't fail, but he definitely didn't do nicely. Lance was just ready to get out and find a piano to play some Chopin on.

At last, the examiner smiled professionally and escorted him to the door. Lance was more than ready to leave, grabbing his papers and books and striding out of the room and towards the elevators as quick as he possibly could.

Once he pressed the M button and the doors closed in front of him did he finally relax.  _ God _ , he was  _ finally _ done with those shitty pieces. He could finally get something harder and become even  _ better _ at them. Which was what he had and still will say with everything, yet still fails anyways.  _ Whatever _ .

The doors opened, to which Lance was slightly confused about. The trip down did take a while, but not quite as lengthy of a forever as it did on the way up. He glanced at the elevator floor screen:  _ 4. _

The door opened to a few cleaning staff. Lance relaxed again and stepped back, almost waiting to close the doors again before someone rushed up beside the staff.

"Excuse me, do you know where the examinations are?" The boy was asking the staff.

Lance leaned forward slightly so the boy could see him: "Floor 5 at the end of the hallway." The boy's confused look was quickly replaced with relief as he trotted into the elevator, Lance holding the door open with his foot. He let them close when the boy was completely inside.

"Thanks."

"Er... sorry... I'm going down," Lance mumbled, awkwardly pointing to the elevator counter.

"No, no, that's fine," the boy shook his head, "I'll be in here anyways... going back up."

_ Silence _ . It was a bit uncomfortable, but neither seemed to know what to say next. Lance took the opportunity to examine the boy a little bit.

This boy was in relatively casual clothes, and held a book in his arms. When he moved, he could see the number 7 on it.  _ Not that far from me _ , Lance thought, surprisingly not that bothered considering the minor grade distance.

This kid also had the most ridiculous mullet he had ever seen, and Lance wondered if he was even allowed to wear that anymore. His face was pretty cute though. Shame he had to waste it with the mop of hair unfortunately styled on his head.

Even though he had seemed pretty friendly before, the boy seemed a bit flustered now, staring at the doors as the elevator continued to descend. Lance thought it was possibly because he looked older than him, considering the way he was neatly dressed and that he was just a tiny bit taller than him. He wasn't too upset by the fact that this younger kid was a higher level than him though.

"Did you just finish your exam?" The boy had spoken up again.

"Yeah... and you're... going to yours... aren't you...?"  _ Real smooth, Lance. Captain Obvious is back at it again. _

"Yeah."

Lance wanted to time it so he could leave the elevator right away. "Good luck then."

"Thanks."

The elevator finally reached the main floor, and took forever to open up. Lance had said all of that too early, and probably seemed desperate to leave, as he was right up against the doors now. He left as soon as possible, leaving mullet kid behind him.

_ Thank god he wouldn't see him again _ .

Humming some classical piece stuck in his head, he went towards the exit, patting his pockets to find his phone and earbuds.

The patting became slightly more desperate and concerned when he realized he couldn't find either.

He put down his books on an adjacent table and he thoroughly checked himself, mentally face-palming when he remembered he actually left his jacket on the bench just outside of the examination room. Cursing under his breath quickly, he scuffled back towards the elevators, refusing to go to the stairwell and sprint up 10 flights of stairs.

The elevator of course took forever to come and go up. Lance wouldn't have been so anxious, but his remaining nerves from the exam went into wondering if his phone and jacket would be stolen by the time he got up there. Of course they wouldn't be, but since when did he ever not worry about stuff like that?

By the time he got there, a few parents were still sitting around, but his jacket lay in a heap where he had left it, perfectly untouched. Breathing a tiny sigh of relief, Lance shuffled over it and put his jacket back on, searching for his phone successfully inside one of its pockets.

He was really just about to leave when whoever was in the examination room began playing. Lance couldn't care less at first, but when he adjusted to hear it properly through the closed door, he stopped trying to leave so quickly.

Whoever was playing in the room was very talented, and played not only perfectly but with such quaint musicality that Lance had actually stopped to listen seriously. He wasn't as jealous as he would've been before his exam, but whoever was playing was playing pieces relatively similar to his own. Glancing around, he searched for the boy he was in the elevator with earlier, yet his face was not amongst any of the parents'. He must've been running late and was doing his exam now. 

The first piece ended, and it was only a few moments before the next began, just as magnificent as the first. Lance saw out of the corner of his eye that the man at the desk who had helped register him was eyeing him, so he took his phone out and pretended to text his mother. Really, he was only listening to mullet kid's examination.

Deep inside, he really was still a little envious, but there was something inside him that was already willing to forgive this stranger of his horrendous crime.

The last piece finally finished with the lift of the sustain pedal, and Lance let out a sigh he didn't realize he was holding. He had a stupid little thing for falling for people's musical ability, but why it was happening now was unknown to him. Shaking himself mentally, he craned his neck to search for a bathroom sign anywhere.

Once he left the bathroom, he stretched, trying to find the elevator or even the stairs. The stairs were unfortunately the closest to him, so that's what he ended up taking.

It's not that he was already tired from climbing down stairs, but for some reason, Lance stopped at the fourth floor door. He didn't know what it was, but something was pulling him through that door.  _ Perhaps he could snag an empty practice room, even if the Conservatory hadn't booked any of the rooms. _

Biting his lip, he opened the door and slipped through, acting as if it was bigger of a deal than it actually was. Some kid desperately wanting to play the piano wasn't very rebellious, or at least it shouldn't have been in the music wing of the college.

Glancing down at his phone, he noticed that he was already at 15%. He could use charging his phone to find his way back home as his excuse, and practice all he wanted... if there was an open room. Lance didn't have any of his good sheet music with him, but he'd make do.

Searching the area for an empty room to practice in, he poked the practice room doors just to make sure they were locked. There was one that had someone playing in it, yet the door was left slightly ajar. He tiptoed past it, but stopped fully in his tracks when he caught glance of a familiar red jacket moving around over the old piano keys.

Lance crept up to the door, opening it softly and slowly enough that the kid wouldn't notice. Once he was sufficiently inside the room, he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms and listening to the boy play. A small smile tugged gently at his lips.

The kid wasn't playing anything especially impressive, but it still made Lance's heart swell inside of him. It was slow, and had just a few chords with a simple melody on top. Lance wasn't sure whether or not he was improvising, but whatever it was, the chord progression was ethereal. And to top it all off, the kid was humming under his breath as he played.

This kid also had his mullet tied back in a ponytail now. Damned be Lance if he couldn't admit that this made him so much more attractive. God, maybe he had a thing for ponytails. Ponytails with their jacket sleeves rolled up their arms and their bangs falling into their face and playing with such musicality that it made Lance want to cry...

Lance shifted a bit and accidentally dropped a few of the papers he was holding. They fluttered down to the floor as he unsuccessfully tried to catch them, the door creaking open even further as he jolted around. The boy stopped playing abruptly, almost jumping in his seat as he turned, covering the piano with his arms as if that was going to hide that he had been playing.

"Oh, um... sorry," Lance coughed, crouching to pick up his papers, "You can continue if you want." The boy didn't even flinch. He seemed to relax a bit more when he realized it was only the kid he’d met in the elevator and not a staff coming to tell him off.

"Oh..." he mumbled, standing up anyways instead of continuing to play.

Lance waved his arms desperately: "Wait, no, no, seriously man - keep on playing. You're really good. Just because I'm here doesn't mean you should stop. You have an audience now after all." Lance grinned and even winked. He set his books and papers down beside the boy's on the table beside the piano and charged his phone. "The name's Lance."

"Uh... Keith." Keith sat back down slowly."

"It's nice to meet you,  _ Uh Keith _ ."

"... Shut up," he pouted, stretching his arms out forward and leaning towards the piano in front of him.  _ Cute _ .

"... What were you playing just then?"

"... Something."

"You don't have to be so modest, jeez," Lance sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"It's just something I was playing with. It's not concrete."

"...So you were improvising?"

"I guess, if you want to call it that."

Lance paused, letting his admiration settle within their atmosphere. "You're really good, dude. It's insane. I wish I could improvise like that."

Keith raised an eyebrow: "It's not that hard. You just know the basics and then do whatever you want. Whatever comes to mind." He started playing again, slightly slower this time.

"Yeah, buddy, it's not that easy. I can do it on the odd day after practicing it beforehand, but... I can't think of anything original."

"Just play a blues scale then. Anything." He did so on top of his chord to prove his point.

"No," Lance whined, "I need to have it really good, you know what I mean? It's just... I don't know... it's so hard to make my own thing. Every time I try to even write my own thing, I end up copying something else."

"Hmm, well," Keith's eyes didn't lift from his own hands as he spoke, "Practice is always very good."

"Do I strike as a person that doesn't practice to you?"

"Maybe." He was grinning slightly, and honestly it made Lance feel just slightly warmer inside, despite the fact he was being teased.

"That's not true," he frowned, crossing his arms, "I practice a lot. Just not what I'm supposed to." 

Keith scoffed: " _ Of course you do. _ And what are you 'practicing' that you're not supposed to?"

"Songs that I actually want to play."

"Hmm? Like?"

Lance stared up at the corner of the room, scratching the back of his neck as he thought. "Well... usually it's something classical I find on Youtube... or soundtracks. Stuff like Chopin... a bit of Debussy in there I suppose... Beethoven... all the classics."

"...That's good practicing."

"Not what I'm supposed to be doing though." He gestured over to his Grade 6 books on the table beside Keith's Grade 7 ones. Keith's eyes flickered over before returning to the piano.

"Doesn't it make you better?"

He shrugged. "Not if I can't play anything perfectly."

Keith stopped playing suddenly, resting his hands down on his lap. He swiveled his body around to face Lance and look him in the eyes.

"Are you trying to make me judge your playing by telling me what to think?"

Lance pursed his lips, thinking of how to play this out. Keith hadn't broken eye contact once, even if Lance glanced away quickly a few times. It was mildly intimidating, but he was strangely satisfied on how he suddenly had every last bit of Keith's attention.

Smirking, he cocked his head slightly. "Are you asking me to serenade you?" 

Only now did Keith break eye contact, his concentration flickering to the corner of the room behind Lance. He was biting his lip a little now, and Lance found it amusing that this small comment had already flustered the boy. By the time he caught Lance's eye again, his own eyes were narrowed.

"Why? Do you not want to play?"

"I'd be happy to play…” Lance paused for a second before shifting his train of thought, “Wait... actually... change of plans."

Keith squinted his eyes. "O...kay?"

"What kind of songs do you know?"

"Uh, I like a lot of Mozart and Scarlatti... some Schubert and Schumann too..."

"Do you know how to play Mozart's Fantasia in D Minor?"

"Yeah, I do actually."

"Do you need sheet music?"

"No."

"Perfect. I'll top then."

Lance moved over to Keith's other side, sitting down on the bench and nudging him with his ass to make him scoot over and give him more space. He didn't quite notice that Keith was frozen stiff, face a tint pinker than before. Lance was scrolling through his own phone to find the music for himself before noticing the lack of movement beside him.

"...Did- did I say something?" Lance glanced over at the boy, setting his phone down in front of him.  _ 'I'll top,' _ echoed around suddenly in his head, and he quickly covered his mouth with the back of his hand – partially out of embarrassment and partially out of amusement. "I meant I'll do the right hand, oh my god." He was laughing now, sticking his tongue out and biting it in an attempt to not laugh so loud. "God, I can't believe you actually took it that way."

"You're pretty annoying."

"Thanks. You're starting the piece,  _ Head & Shoulders _ ."

Keith's hand started playing the chord slower than Lance was used to, but he played his part of the broken chord smoothly, trying his best to coordinate with how his counterpart was playing. Keith's face was full of concentration, but when Lance accented and pulled his own part, he peeked up quickly at Lance, smiling and putting a bit more expression into his own section. It was almost like they were chatting back and forth, expressing what they wanted to say by letting the keys sing it out.

Every run down, Keith sat back a bit to let Lance's hand fly down the keyboard with incredible grace, landing down ready to transition to Keith's diminished arpeggios and chromatic scale all the way back up the keyboard to start the melody again. Lance was completely ready to take the lead, picking out the melody with flamboyant confidence. Keith held a steady support underneath him, still flowing underneath his melody like waves underneath a sailboat.

The allegro approached, and when they paused before they went into it, they side-eyed each other knowingly, biting their lips and grinning as they started playing in an almost musically teasing fashion. This was the most fun bit, and they definitely had their fun with it. It didn't matter that Lance's hands slipped a few times, because Keith would always somehow make it easier for Lance to get back on the train even if he continued like nothing had happened.

Finishing of with grandeur, they lifted their hands in sync, setting their hands down on their laps as they took deep breaths. Lance could barely control his grin, it stretching wide across his face.

"Holy shit, Keith! We make such a good team," he exhaled, running his hand through his hair.

"Y- yeah... we did... we did, didn't we." He was beaming, examining his own hands.

"Guess I'll always top then," Lance smirked, giving Keith finger guns. Keith sighed and gave him a dirty look (bad dirty, unfortunately; Lance would probably have died on the spot otherwise).

"I still haven't actually heard you play yet."

"Yeah you did, I just played with you! Did you not like that?"

"N- no!" he shook his head quickly, trailing off, "I really like it... actually..."

"Well?"

"You heard me play before, right? I still haven't heard...  _ just _ you... y-you don't have to if you don't want to of course-"

"No, it's fine," Lance sighed, flexing his fingers as he thought of something he could play. Keith stood up to let him have the entire bench, resting himself against the side of the piano. "You'll be in for a real surprise tonight."

"What?" Keith seemed amused, "Are you giving me an entire concert?"

"It'll almost seem like that, perhaps," he hummed, leaning back on his arms propped up on the piano bench, "This is a song that I've known since I was 11."

"Soooo... you're not going to show off to me?"

"I never said that," Lance winked, "It's my signature song. Just wait and see."

Lance's fingers hit the keys so delicately to start, beginning slowly and gracefully as they moved up and down the piano.  _ God _ , he had known Chopin's Nocturne op. 9 no. 2 inside and out now, and used that factor to his advantage to make more room for expression and emotion within the piece.

This piece wasn't Arthur Rubenstien's. It wasn't Yundi Li's or Valentina Lisista's or Brigitte Engerer's. This piece was  _ Lance McClain's _ , and he completely owned it every single time he played it.

Every time he had played this song, it was different. Completely different songs with completely different meanings behind them. If he was angry, the Nocturne was slightly harsher. If he was happy beyond belief, the song soared like a bird in the air. Every touch would be different, and every tiny trill changed ever so slightly. The piano wasn't perfectly in shape or in tune, but that didn't matter; it almost even enhanced the piece and its originality.

Lance's fingers bounced off the keys, hitting them perfectly despite the jumps they had to make. It was so ingrained into his brain at this point that it was like second nature, knowing where those specific keys were in what order.

The feeling that was emoting out of this time, however, he wasn't quite sure what it was. He felt inexplicably elated inside, yet still felt like he was going to cry. If he was completely honest with himself, he was actually playing with so much emotion that there were probably a few tears in his eyes. This wasn't the first time that this happened, but it was rare that he played something so beautiful that his own playing brought himself to tears. Stupid, but he loved what he did, and he was going to put his everything into it too.

With his tongue sticking out in determination, Lance aced the most impressive part of the song, having its effect ebb away into soft solo notes that rang around the entire room. Breathing deeply with the song, he eased it to the end, hitting the last few chords at the perfect pressure and letting the sustain carry them out and around their heads.

Gradually lifting his foot off the pedal, he took a deep breath as he rested his arms on his thighs. He almost forgot that Keith was still in the room, since he had been so quiet since he had started. When Lance glanced over at him, he was studying Lance with such intensity that all of his emotions from playing whirled suddenly and turned into embarrassment. Keith's hand was worrying his lip, and his hair pulled back into that ponytail - not to mention the fact that at some point he had shrugged off his jacket and was wearing a nicely-fitted t-shirt underneath. Flustered, Lance turned to check his phone quickly.  _ 100%. _

"Y-Yeah... that's my best shot," he stammered, swiveling around quickly to face Keith again.

This time, Keith was a lot closer than he remembered him being. His elbow was propped up against the piano, leaning him forward with his face only inches away from Lance's. He was nibbling at his lip, scanning Lance's face with an expression he couldn't quite process at the moment.

Lance was internally dying. He was slanted a bit back from Keith's face, but still close enough that he could barely feel Keith’s short breaths prickle his skin. He had to force himself to breathe, each breath slightly shakier than the first. And his  _ heartbeat _ – this was nothing compared to the anxiety he felt earlier. Each beat resonated throughout his entire body, making him unsettling more aware of it than usual.

Keith glanced down for a millisecond, and Lance had to grip at what he could of the piano keys his hand was rested on. He gulped, trying to make it as least obvious as he could.

And then Keith was pulling back. He was rubbing his cheek with one hand, inhaling for a really long time before finally releasing it.

"That was... amazing," he admitted, offering a slight smile. "I... I don't even know what to say."

Lance blinked. Had he just imagined their entire interaction, or...? What had Keith been thinking? Seriously... they had just met and Lance was falling hard for this boy already.

"How old are you?" Keith asked, prompting Lance to say _anything_ \- mostly because he seemed to have been rendered utterly speechless.

"Oh... uh..." he stammered, "16. I'm 16, yeah. How about you?"

"Turning 17 this October."

"Wait..." Lance peered at him disconcertingly, "Are you a Senior?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, "What did you think I was?"

"I thought you were... younger than me maybe... or the same age at least– I don't know!"

"Well, you're extremely good for your age."

" _ 'For your age'  _ my ass. I'm just under a year younger than you," Lance huffed, rolling his eyes.

Keith snickered: "Is that what you're taking out of my compliment?"

"God, just... you know what? Whatever. Thanks... I guess?"

"It's no problem. If you actually practice, you'd probably ace all your actual repertoire just as well as you did with that piece."

"Shut up, I know my weaknesses. I bet you have some too."

"Hmm? I don't think I do..."

"You big liar."

"Guess one of them then, if you're so smart."

"...My piece that I just played." Lance’s comment shut Keith up a little bit. His mouth that had been hanging open - confidently ready to retort - closed quickly as his eyes flickered elsewhere.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well you seemed almost like you wanted to kiss me, for one," Lance partially joked, letting it slip out.

Keith, on the other hand, didn't seem to take it as a joke. He seemed flustered, and was wringing his hands as he pointedly stared at the floor awkwardly. Lance's mouth fell into a realizing 'o' shape, contouring into various other shapes as he desperately thought of ways to get him through this stupid situation he got himself into.  _ So why not take a fucking step closer to his problems. _

"Was... was I wrong...?" he mumbled, trying his hardest to keep looking at Keith. The other boy was trying his best to drag his eyes up to meet Lance's.

"Um... n-no actually. No, you weren't." His words were whispered, as if it was a secret only Lance should hear.

"Did I really move you that much?" Lance smirked, swaying slightly on the spot, moving gradually closer to Keith.

"I felt like I was dreaming." Keith was relaxing now, letting Lance advance towards him.

"Well that's good, because damn, I already fell in love with your playing since I admittedly eavesdropped on your examination."

"You fell in love with my playing but not me?"

"Well, something had to make up for that ridiculous mullet of yours."

"I'm offended."

"Hey, I gotta say, I might have something for ponytails though."

"You're not too bad yourself, Lance."

Lance stopped just before he reached Keith's face. Externally, he seemed frozen, but internally, realization was crashing throughout him in waves.  _ What was he doing? _ He'd just met someone, and because he fell in love with this kids playing within just an hour he was  _ already going to kiss him? _ He was a teenager and allowed to do ridiculous shit like this, but...  _ still. _ Lance suddenly became unsure of himself again.

"I literally just met you but... God, I'm so  _ gay, _ " Keith muttered, promptly moving foreword to close the gap instead.

Lance was melting. No, scratch that: he was soaring. His head was spinning round and round, almost making him not quite sure of what was happening. All the feeling that had bubbled up as he was playing his Nocturne came back, crashing onto him with a force that was foreign to him. What intrigued him was that a lot of this feeling wasn't just Keith's lips on his own, but rather mostly the idea of what was happening, and that it actually  _ was _ happening.

The kiss itself was short and sweet, and ended before Lance could fully process that it had happened in the first place. Keith was pulling back, fluttering his eyes open slowly so they could gaze at each other's eyes.

It was Lance that stepped back first, wheezing partially out of mortification and partially out of the absurdity of the entire situation. Keith's hand that had at some point held Lance's neck during their kiss slid down his shoulder, gripping at his arm in confusion. Lance looked up and locked them into eye contact, staying silent for a few seconds before they both burst out laughing.

"No offence, but you totally just ruined the entire mood right there," Keith giggled, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Sorry, that was just so weird," Lance straightened up, trying to compose himself, "Are we stereotypical teenagers now?"

"What? Kissing immediately after we meet?"

"Yeah. It's like we're in some crappy comedy or fanfiction or something."

"You don't say."

They both ogled at each other fondly, comfortable with the mutual silence between them. Lance was the first to move again to grab his fully charged phone and his examination books and papers, Keith following behind him.

"I should probably get going soon. My mami will probably be wondering where I am if I take too much longer."

"That's fine," Keith said, taking out his own phone, "I think my parents are here to pick me up anyways."

"That's cool- hey, wait," Lance blocked him from his path at the door, "I almost forgot to ask - what's your phone number?"

"Huh?"

" _ Well _ ,” he dragged out the last consonant, “We can't have a star-crossed romance where we kiss in a practice room after falling in love with each other's playing styles and then just never meet again..."

"Oh, you're right," Keith realized, opening up contacts on his phone and handing it to Lance. Lance did the same, plugging in his own number into Keith's phone.

"Right, there we go. Now I'm sure to see your pretty face again," Lance smirked, pocketing his own phone.

"Yeah, yeah..." Keith shook his head, grinning at the compliment.

They walked back to the elevators and then the front of the building together in silence, basking in solely each other's presence. It was fine now; they had time. It was ridiculously rushed at first, but they had time now. Time to sort everything out.

They were waiting at the edge of the curb, looking out for Keith's parents. Lance was rocking back and forth on his heels, his books tucked underneath his arms and his hands in his pockets.

"Man, I almost forgot but I'm already going to be back here this Sunday," Lance whistled, glancing back at the large college music building behind them. Keith cocked his head curiously.

"For what?"

"I have a Jazz Camp here... Piano again, haha."

"Wait... you're in the jazz camp too?"

"Um... yeah... that's what I just sai- wait,  _ what do you mean 'too'?!" _

Keith shrugged: "I registered in it too. For trumpet though. My school instrument."

Lance studied him for a little bit before saying, "You don't seem a lot like a trumpet player to me."

"And you don't seem much like a piano player to me either. If we're talking about stereotypes here, I'd say you're more of a trumpet player." He jabbed him in the side playfully, Lance arching awkwardly to avoid him.

"Hey! I play oboe, just so you know-"

"I never would've guessed."

"God, maybe your musical talent really is the only thing–"

"Sorr–"

"I'm kidding man, relax," he scratched the back of his head, noticing the car pulling up in front of them, "Are they yours?"

"Oh, er, yeah..." Keith nodded, slightly dejectedly. Lance felt the same way too: he wanted to stay by Keith's side just a little longer if possible.

"I'll... I'll see you on Sunday then... right? For the audition?"

"Yeah, I guess I'll see you then." Keith was getting into the car. "And don't forget to text me!" was the last thing he heard from him before the passenger side door slammed shut. The car was already moving away, so Lance half-heartedly held his hand up to wave goodbye.

Stupid teenage hormones making his heart ache, even though it had only been seconds since he had last spoken to Keith. Lance wandered out towards the main street to find a nearby train station.

Taking out his phone, he hesitantly tapped to make a new message, thumb hovering over Keith's name.  _ Was it too soon? _

_ Fuck it _ , Lance thought confidently, grinning as he typed out his first message to him.

**_hey keith_ **

**_im so glad i met you today_ **

**_*wink emoji**kiss emoji**happy closed mouth tongue emoji*_ **

Sunday. 2 days.

That's how long Lance had to wait before he could see and listen to Keith again.

_ 2 days feel like an eternity _ .

**Author's Note:**

> leave it to ya boi lucy to write 7k words of only piano and make it borderline interesting
> 
> my thirst for klance is telling me to add onto this fic and make it More but my procrastination and lack of motivation is telling me otherwise idk maybe ill just write more but apart from this
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](http://universalsatan.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [writing blog](http://celestialberries.tumblr.com/)


End file.
